


I feel you drifting

by thatslurredhello



Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because Adrian is an underrated and unexplored character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Is Difficult, M/M, Poor Adrian, Poor Deran, Swearing, They love each other, reference to Deran's shitty family, reference to headcanon, refernce to Adrian's probable shitty past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatslurredhello/pseuds/thatslurredhello
Summary: You do these things, you do; you say shit that you’re only going to regret and ruin the good moments, because you can’t help it, because you’re always thinking of what’s wrong and what could go wrong. You’re not Deran. You don’t know how to pretend everything’s okay and you don’t know how to just enjoy the moment  without thinking about all the bad shit that’s to come.(Second Person/Adrian POV)





	I feel you drifting

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly wrote most of this in the back of a classroom and typed it up when I got home, hoping it was good enough. I've recently watched all that there is to watch of Animal Kingdom so far and I really love the depth, complex nature and twists of the show (hit me up if you wanna talk about its greatness). I also fell into deep intrigue with the Deran/Adrian relationship pretty much as soon as it came up becuase of its rawness and its undisclosed backstory (what happened in Belize?) so I had to write this fic containing certain aspects of what I think their relationship may or has entailed.
> 
> Anyway this is my first fic for this Fandom and I hope that you enjoy x
> 
> (Title from 'I hope time doesn't change him' by the drums)

“I probably won’t be around again this week.” Deran says plainly, as he enters the kitchen where you’ve turned to him from the counter at which you are making coffee for the two of you. He’s got his jeans back on but his grey t-shirt in hand, leaving his torso exposed and still speckled with see-through drops of water from the shower that he’s just had. His hair is pulled back so that half of the blond strands are twisted into a loose bun whilst the rest remains down, visibly dampened dark at the ends to a near-brown colour.  
   
“You got a job coming up?” You press amicably, as though it doesn’t bother you one bit that you’re going to be losing him for a while to Smurf and his fucking thug brothers for the ten-trillionth time.  
   
“Yeah, quite a big one.” He replies.  
   
“Well don’t get caught or whatever.”  
   
A tentative half-smile develops slowly on his face and he says:  
“Come on, man. I’m too good at my job for that.”  
   
Of-fucking-course he is. A rumour of a memory flashes up in your brain of that one awful time you’d had to bail him out of county jail after a solo home invasion gone wrong, because Smurf wouldn’t and the other boys would never go against Smurf  
   
“Except when you’re not.” You snipe sharply. You regret saying the words in a practical instant, however, because Deran’s sun-tanned face falls, smile crumbling down as if some essential chord within him has been severed in half by sharp scissors. You do these things, you do; you say shit that you’re only going to regret and ruin the good moments, because you can’t help it, because you’re always thinking of what’s wrong and what could go wrong. You’re not Deran. You don’t know how to pretend everything’s okay and you don’t know how to just enjoy the moment  without thinking about all the bad shit that’s to come.  
   
It’s an ingrained behaviour from a long time ago.  
   
“Why’ve you got to bust my balls, man? We were having an alright time and you have to just go and fucking -”  
   
“Ruin it. I know.” You interrupt, but he won’t look at you. “I’m sorry, look, i’m sorry.” You concede quickly, but he still won’t look at you, and he’s rubbing at his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands. “Hey,” you sigh out softly, which is what actually grasps his attention. “I didn’t mean it. I was being petty. I apologise.”  
   
Deran’s not you. He’s forgiving and ‘sorry’ is almost always enough for him, so he says:  
“It’s alright.” and “ I’ll be done in around a week, I’ll come over then.”  
   
“You don’t have to tell me what you’re doing, I’m not your wife.” You reply and you’re a little worried it’s come out sounding scornful but Deran doesn't look offended by it. You guess he can tell when you are and you aren’t being cutting after all these years.  
   
“No but - I’m just letting you know. I’d rather be here than committing some heist under Smurf’s rule and Baz’s iron fist at the moment, to be honest.” He rubs a hand over his face as he talks.  
   
“You don’t have to lie, Deran, you love jobs.” You say, because you really don’t want him to feel as though he needs to lie to you. You could probably deal with coming up sixth place in his life if he didn’t try to make you feel otherwise.  
   
“I lo-” He sighs heavily. “ I do, but running jobs is getting sort of heavy at the moment and I like being here. Here is easier than dealing with my family’s shit sometimes, you know?”  
   
He leans up against the white kitchen wall and takes a moment to stare down at his bare feet. You can see the tiredness in him now, you must have been missing it before. There's exhaustion in the way his shoulders roll inwards, in the way that he looks up at you, worn out and almost guilty, eyes dewy.  
   
“Deran…”  
   
“I wish I could have more time to just be here - to - I don’t know...”

Which is the thing, you think. He doesn’t know. You don’t know. You turn back to the countertop to pour the well steeped coffee from it’s glass jug and into two mugs (one of which being the big chipped blue-grey one that Deran seems to favour). Neither of you know what this thing between you can be defined as, you both don’t know why you can’t help but be drawn back to each other (even when it’s all going to shit) and you certainly don’t know what it is that’s kept this tumultuous ‘relationship’ from collapsing down around you like a bombed building.  
   
Deran’s still looking at you, eyes all wide and watery blue, as you turn and hand his coffee into fumbling, unsure hands. He seems about ready to cry or (more likely in Deran’s case) throw his hands up and shout aloud in some outward performance of frustration and desperation and confusion. You understand, you really do, you feel frustrated and desperate and confused more often than not; you want to throw your hands up to the sky and scream and cry an overwhelmingly unhealthy amount too.  
   
You don’t do any of these things and neither does he. Instead he just stares at you as you place your calloused left hand to the side of his bearded jaw line, and say:  
“Hey, one week. You’ll be busy running the job and I’ll be run off my feet at the shop. We won’t even notice the time go past.”  
   
Which makes you a hypocrite because you hate it when Deran lies to you but that, that, is a fucking lie if you’ve ever told him one.


End file.
